Waving Katty off at the train station and I feel the pang of sadness, but know that the big wide world once again is there for the taking. It's always a heavy blow when you've been with a travel buddy for a while and then part ways, a melancolic trudge alone through busy stations. Except for Paddy. I was elated when I got rid of him.

I've made my way the short distance it is to Hostel Elf. I have one thing on my mind and one thing only; pub crawl. I start early, then book some debauchery with The Clock Tower Bar Crawl. If you ever come to Prague, don't, whatever you do, don't do this. There are around seventy lads and two girls. As we stride into town, we pick up even more sausages, highlighting that there was really no point paying for this in the first place. The 'free bar' is not free, and even when it was (for about half an hour) you're stuck ten deep so by the time you make it to the pumps, you've forgotten what booze tastes like. Then there is the sheer volume of idiotic screaming children chanting "mosa mosa asi voce me mata". It reminds me of the 'party bus' in Panama city. When am I ever going to learn? I bail early and strike out on my own.

A couple of enjoyable incidents happen during the evening though to more than make up for the ridiculousness of it all. I meet a young man who is going my way to India, but by bicycle. Interestingly enough, he's with a team of guys raising money for Macmillan Cancer Support. Obviously I get a little emotional due to one too many a beer and the fact that it was this charity that cared tirelessly for my dad throughout his illness. I make a point to take their details and add as much as I can to their fund.

I'm then approached by a pretty blond who informs me she is from Sweden. You know how I feel about those girls. To my utter astonishment, she remembers me from staying at The Point hostel in Lima. She even has a photograph of me teabaggin a friend while he slept, putting my kilt over his head. As luck would have it, she has no problem in recognising me as I'm wearing the same garb. Enamored with how small the world is, it still doesn't get me anywhere. Those Swedes sure are tough to crack.